Everyone else dying
by mcloughlingold
Summary: C/O with Number Six from Lorien Legacies, but you don't have to have read it "Immortality is everyone else dying." Two travellers arrive 150 years too early and must watch as the world ages around them. Following the journey of two individuals as they try to come to terms with their own immortality.
1. Chapter 1

**AN/**

 _This is a sort of a crossover, even if it's not listed as one. You don't need to have read the Lorien Legacies (spoiler, I never got around to reading the last two, sorry). Anything you need to know I'll explain, but if you want everything to make more sense from the get-go, a short summary:_

 _The planet Lorien and its people are attacked by the Mogdorians. As the planet falls they send out 9 Garde children (_ Gardes _are the warrior aspect of the Loric race, they have enhanced abilities and the ability to develop powers once they reach maturity, these powers are person specific and called legacies) and 9 adult Cêpans (guardians) to earth, where they might grow up to defeat the Mogdorians (or Mogs). The Loric Elders cast a protection spell which means that these children can only be killed in order of their numbers._

 _I think that's right, google Lorien Legacies wiki for more info. The series takes place in C21st, basic plotline here is that Number Six arrives 150 years too early. This then set in the 150 years that Captain Jack waits for The Doctor, and then perhaps also beyond._

 **Chapter One**

The girl had been found at the scene of the crime, but her nice dress had secured a nice address from the investigation's leading officer who thought all villains took the form of vagrants and vagabonds, and so although the policeman took her back to the station for questioning, by large he left the young girl unsupervised.

A man entered soon after this, he too was well dressed and no one spared him a glance, he approached the child and appeared to speak to her, within minutes she was asleep in his arms. No one raised an eyebrow when he carried her out.

When the girl awoke, she found that she did not recognise her surroundings. The air was damp and heavy, the room more so, composed as it was of thick brick walls and a curved roof that suggested it might have once made its living as a sewer tunnel. There were restraints on her chair, thick leather cuffs, but they were not fastened. To her left sat a cell, and scattered around the room there were various contraptions which she acknowledged were likely designed to intimidate, in fact, that rather seemed to be the point of the room it was a display of dangerous capability, of threat, rather than an imminent danger.

She made to try the door, but her limbs wouldn't co-operate, her lungs felt like lead, and the limited light that was slinking across the room from a source she could not identify, hurt her head. By the time these sensations passed and she found herself capable of coordinated movement, she could hear muttered voices echoing in from somewhere outside of her locked chamber.

"Because I'm not comfortable with it, that's damn well why." Spoke a male voice, even muffled by several inches of stone his tone was threatening and brokered no argument, but this seemed to have little impact on the responding voice.

"Your comfort is of no concern to me, and thus it does not pertain to the matter at hand." She replied- for it was clearly a female voice.

The conversation grew quieter for a few minutes and it became impossible to decipher much at all.

This silence was ended by the sound of a heavy footfall, and it appeared to the captured girl that the male speaker was drawing closer to his female counterpart who was now leaning against the wall. Soon enough both voices were distinguishable once more.

"Might I remind you of your own culpability in this matter." Spoke the women, her tone had gravitated from dismissive to threatening.

"What they gonna do? Hang me?" Spat the man in return, his voice heavy with bitter sarcasm.

"Don't make empty threats, Captain." She replied, her tone seeped in a congealed sweetness that was infinitely more threatening than the firm tones she'd employed before. "One day I might just call your bluff."

She was taunting him now, the girl could tell, she didn't need to see the woman's face to know it. There was a perverse, sexual weight behind the words the woman used, as she attempted to eroticise whatever position of power she was tormenting the man with.

"I'd have as much freedom there as I do now." The man bit out.

"And yet you are here." The woman smirked around the words. "Roar all you like little lion; the enclosure is still preferable to the cage. Now stretch your legs in the direction I dictate, or you'll find your freedom shrinking." Then she laughed, and the click of heels marked her exit. A loud thump hit the wall against which the girl was listening, she assumed it was a fist. Heavy footsteps began to make their way towards the door and the girl scurried back to her seat, after a few moments pause outside of the room, the man entered. He was a tall, generically handsome figure who seemed well suited to overconfidence, yet for all the bravado he was attempting to display, his discomfort was palpable.

She was an odd little thing, no older than seven, he thought, with very dark hair and striking eyes that appeared to change colour in the lighting. They reminded him of a cat's eyes, so very observant, so very calculating. There was truly an inhuman quality about her (although he acknowledged that he was likely predisposed to think that), but for all intents and purposes she was a kid, she looked like a kid, and for all his practised detachment even he couldn't stomach that. However, better he than the Elizabeth Bathory doubles waiting just down the corridor, so he dragged up a crate, sat down, and began.

"Hey there," he smiled, trying to appear as friendly as possible "My name is Jack, what are you called?"

She looked him straight in the eye and made no reply.

"C'mon," he grinned "you can tell me. I ain't gonna hurt you, I just want to talk. Okay?"

She raised an eyebrow, looking comically sceptical.

"What? You don't believe me." He asked

"In my experience, people who 'Just want to talk', don't usually resort to kidnapping." She replied monotonously.

The man, Jack, looked sorrowful for a split second before morphing his expression into that of sheepish shame, he cracked a smile, and then a joke, both of which felt very hollow.

"You had a lot of experience being kidnapped?" He jested.

"About as much as you've had at kidnapping I'd wager." Her expression remained clear, whilst her eyes continued to assess. Jack dropped his friendly routine and recalculated his approach. His face morphed to mirror the blank mask of his adversary.

"I didn't kidnap you" He stated, "You remain within the custody of the queen."

"You don't seem like much of a police officer."

"You don't seem like much of a child."

The girl didn't reply, and Jack knew he'd landed a hit, but rather than pushing it, he reiterated his earlier point.

"Look I'm not going to hurt you, I don't want to."

The girl scoffed. "That would be much more reassuring if you hadn't almost killed me with that chloroform dose." She paused and Jack gestured for her to elaborate. "It was much too high, you nearly paralysed my chest muscles, I would have asphyxiated."

Jack grinned a little, "I knew what I was doing." He replied smugly, sinking back against the boxes he was leant against.

"And yet you gave me nearly twice the adult dose." She countered.

Jack raised an eyebrow, looked the girl right in the eye and said: "Yeh, well when you punched through a brick wall I figured I needed to recalculate."

This comment won him a nod of acknowledgement from the girl opposite.

"Maren Elizabeth Connolly." She said by way of reply.

"Captain Jack Harkness."

Then both individuals offered a slow smile and acknowledged that to some extent they'd just lied too. The Captain brought forward a file that the girl had not noticed he'd been holding, from it he withdrew a black and white photograph of a tall, pale, tattooed man with dark black hair. Despite the low quality of the image, discolouration was clearly present around the man's neck, and there was a thin instrument protruding from his chest. The area around him was dark with blood. He was dead.

"Do you recognise this scene?"

"Yes. That is the drawing room of my grandmother's house."

"And the man."

"Whilst I have seen him before, I am unfamiliar with him."

"So, you recognise him?"

"He lay dead in my home, it would be hard to forget him."

"Did you know the deceased prior to today?"

"No."

"So, this man just happened to break into your home and attack its inhabitants? Why would he do that?"

"You surely can't expect me to account for the actions of a dead man. I am no mystic."

"Do you know _what_ he is?"

"A murderer." Spat the girl through clenched teeth, before she looked sharply away. When she turned her head back her expression was blank once more.

That had not been what the Captain was insinuating, and both parties knew it, however putting that aside, for the time being, the Captain instead decided to push at the pressure point the girl had mistakenly handed him.

"The woman who lived with you, neighbours state that she was your grandmother, is that correct."

"For a time." She answered cryptically.

"What about your parents?" He asked.

"Dead. I never knew them." She responded.

The captain leaned back in his chair and cocked an eyebrow, "Were they locals?" he said.

The girl smiled. "No." She replied

"And yet your grandmother lived in the very house which you yourself have spent the last six months occupying, twenty-five years ago, with a girl your own age. Presumably your mother?"

"Presumably."

The Captain abandoned his line of questioning, withdrew an item from his pocket. It was a small metal device, no bigger than television remote, a yellow light shone faintly from within it, and its surface was decorated with a single dial.

"This little machine, this isn't local. Now as a foreign girl I think you know what this is."

The girl clenched her jaw before scoffing.

"You're not going to use that."

"So, you do know, good."

"You'll be just as susceptible as I am."

"Yes. But seeing as only one of us appears to be in hiding, I think you might just have the monopoly on secrets." Then he turned the dial on the small device and made to speak, he was however beaten to it by the young girl.

"Truth field, I always thought them rather poorly named, removing the capacity to lie doesn't leave one with the truth, especially with a device as small as that. Then again you likely know that, you're not a local boy, are you?" Smirked the girl.

The Captain clenched his jaw but was unable to stop the ground out "no", that slipped from his lips. The girl leant back in amusement.

"Why are you here?" He snapped, annoyed at the circles being spun around him.

"You kidnapped me from the police station" She offered in return, smiling smugly once again and offering a "- come on, you'll have to do better than that."

The Captain spared a moment to look rather annoyed with himself, before beginning again.

"What brings you to this planet?" He asked directly, allowing the girl no room for lexical manipulation.

"Necessity" She burst out in reply, before appearing to reign herself in.

"What do you mean 'necessity'?" He hit back.

"The state or fact of being required."

The Captain glared

"You're rather good at this." He conceded "Its rather telling. Have you been trained in interrogation techniques?"

"Yes" Again it was like the words were forced from her, it seemed that a succession of short direct questions which gave the girl little time to think was the most effective interrogation method.

"Why?" He shot.

"Necessity."

"Who is this man?"

"I don't know his name"

"What is his species?"

"Mogdorian. Vat-born to be precise"

"Never heard of them."

"Then you are ill-educated."

"Educate me."

It did not go unacknowledged by the girl that he failed to ask a question, thus leaving her open to reply. It was for this reason, this show of decency, that she decided to accommodate him a few moments more.

"They're from Mogadore, it's a minor planet in the seventh system, but it's dying you see, they've pillaged it to its breaking point. So, they've set their sights further afield."

"So, they are here because they want the Earth?"

"Yes, well, no, you are second on their agenda."

"And let me guess, you are number one?"

"No" She smiled "I am Number Six." And with that, she blinked out of existence.

* * *

 **Thirty years earlier**

 **1869**

The girl didn't know where she was, not really. She knew it was earth, she recognised the inhabitants, the humans, who looked just like the Loric folk she'd left behind. She recognised the ground, the colour of the grass, the sky, although in her lessons they had all been cleaner, prettier, more like home. Something was wrong, her Cêpan- Katerina, as she was now to be called- was panicked, there had been a mistake. They had landed a few days ago, she remembered the panic, their clothing was wrong, their money obsolete. Since then Katerina had exchanged some of the ores they had brought with them for currency, and paid a scary-looking man for a small room on a seedy street. She had handed the girl various books, ordered her to stay put, then asked her to pick a name.

The girl had never really had one of those before, the documents she had travelled with had simply listed her as Number Six, she had memories of nicknames, of pet-names, but never anything official. She had been designated from birth, one of the Nine Garde children, the Elders had appointed her, her parents had been so proud. Both were gone now.

She flicked through the book and a flash of colour caught her eye, she opened the tome on the corresponding page and was met with the image of a fiery-haired woman. It was the first true colour she'd glimpsed on this monotone planet of blacks and greys and whites, it reminded her of home. The caption identified the woman as Elizabeth, and thus the girl adopted the same identifier.

Over the next few months Elizabeth acclimatised to her new surroundings, her Cêpan, Katerina, who was now referring to herself as Elizabeth's mother, secured them a pleasant property in a nicer part of town, documents were forged, clothing was purchased, and soon everything about Elizabeth Connolly appeared perfectly in order.

But it was not. Something had gone wrong. They were one hundred and fifty years out.

The plan, as told to her, had been simple enough, at least in its early stages. If worst came to worst and the end of days was upon them, then eighteen of them would flee, nine Garde with their nine Cêpans, and take refuge on earth until they were old enough to fight back, to defeat the Mogdorians who besieged their planet, to rebuild society. They were the children of the future, it was an honour to be chosen. She didn't feel very honoured. She felt alone. She had seen the invasion, she had watched as the fighting began, and she wondered if she would ever be able to stop them, if there would be anything left to rebuild.

They had found themselves in Cardiff, Wales.

She was beginning to forget what her parents looked like.

She would grow old and die here half a century before the others even arrived.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

 **1869**

The Captain had been keeping his ear to the ground for months before anything remotely promising came along, he'd forgotten how superstitious this period of humanity was predisposed to be, the word alien was used liberally and often alluded to nothing more than paranoia or racism. He ignored the tip about Sneed and Company; after months chasing ghosts which turned out to be nothing but echoing winds, he'd been disinclined to waste an evening sulking about a funeral home. When he heard the explosion he knew he'd made a mistake, but by the time he'd arrived on the scene, there was nothing remaining but a square indent in the snow a few streets over. After weaselling suspect descriptions out of a Copper with charm and a flash of psychic paper, it was confirmed to him, a pretty blonde, a man with short hair and big ears- he'd missed them again.

The realisation struck home, and the Captain sank into a snowbank, allowing his cynicism to creep in. He'd imagined the reunion a thousand times, how elated they'd be to know he was alive, how sorry they'd be that they'd left him behind. Rose would cry, she'd stand there in that god-awful union jack top- as for some reason, in his head, she was always wearing that- and she would cry, cry as she smiled that tongue-in-cheek grin, and then she'd embrace him. All the while The Doctor would stand there, looking slightly awkward, the way he always does before he admits to being wrong, then he'd apologise for leaving, and Jack would forgive him, and then the tension would break, and he'd offer Jack a nod and a backhanded affection, and they'd laugh, and Jack would make a lewd remark about how they could both make their oversite up to him, and they'd go on, and he'd be home.

It was a pipe dream and he knew it.

It had sustained him well enough in the short term, but now it was time to reassert reality: They'd left him behind. They didn't look for him, they didn't spare him a thought, and yet here he was giving them every one of his.

Well, fuck'em.

* * *

 **1873**

It had taken them several years to accept it, after all, excessive trauma has been known to stunt child development. Perhaps it was the emotional upheaval, perhaps it was the atmospheric shift, perhaps Elizabeth was simply a late bloomer. Yet as each year passed these theories became increasingly less likely, by the fourth they were nothing more than whispered hopes. The truth had to be accepted, Elizabeth wasn't ageing.

Her persistent youth had been a forgivable offence when she was merely eight, then nine, years old, yet still looking seven. At ten years it began to be a stretch of the imagination, and by the time Elizabeth's eleventh birthday came around- with the prospect of a puberty that wouldn't materialise hanging over their heads- moving became a necessity. America was the obvious choice, a land of fresh starts and few questions, it would be the easiest place to go unnoticed, and for an increasingly paranoid Katerina it was thus the best option. The four years of relative peace that the pair had experienced, far from dissuading Katerina's fears, had her convinced disaster was on the horizon. Now the added problem of Elizabeth's unwavering youth only further exacerbated her, for she was still processing what Elizabeth was yet to grasp, their lifespans were slowly being rendered woefully unequal.

Yet even the most fervent aspects of Katerina's paranoia did nothing to prepare her for the sheer suffering of the Trans-Atlantic crossing. After packing up their house and bidding a brief farewell to the comfort they so quickly forsook, the pair travelled up to Liverpool in a Stagecoach in hope of securing passage to the Americas from its docks. Katerina paid a man-servant, who had been under their employ since their arrival, to accompany them on the journey, knowing that it would be most unwise for a single woman and young child to travel such a distance unattended. However, for the voyage itself, the pair had no support, for this reason, Katerina sought out a missionary and his wife, who between them held the idea that they would bring God to the entirety of South America. The minister himself seemed a weak man, in both mind and body, but she hoped that his dog-collar might serve to ward off the passive sinners. Humanity it seemed, was better cowed by the phantom threat than the physical.

Katerina wasn't suited to seafaring, they were only two weeks into their twelve-week voyage and she had become so ill she'd been quarantined. There was no doctor on-board the ship, but one of the women had grown up the daughter of an apothecary and had offered her assistance, yet still, they were unsure whether the illness was a product of the motion, or illness from the water, food, or living conditions. Fear of the later was spreading like wildfire. This was why the minister and his wife had separated Elizabeth from the woman who'd raised her, and left her alone on deck, instructing her to keep out of the way. Children were known to die quicker than adults. Content with her own company, Elizabeth had scurried off to hide in the coils of rope and netting near the Captain's cabin, but as she slipped behind the tangled wall, she found her usual seat had been usurped.

There was a man lying, slumped against the coils, with a bottle of what was likely ale in his right hand. He was a broad, ugly looking figure, with dirty hair and dirty clothes, in that respect he was much like many the men aboard the ship. That said, there was something wrong with his face, Elizabeth couldn't tell, not with his head slumped into his chest the way it was, but something wasn't right. However, self-preservation cut across her curiosity and she began to back quietly away, smart enough to be very wary of all the men aboard the vessel. Especially drunk ones.

"D'ya think me, handsome girl?" Came a low drawl. Elizabeth started and turned in the direction of the voice.

The man had not moved from his slouched position, but now his eyes were open and trained upon her. With his head lifted Elizabeth could clearly see the disfigurement that had confused her only a moment ago, a ragged scar marred his face, reaching from his left cheekbone to his chin, slashing through his lips, twisting them, and raising the skin of his face. Elizabeth was struck dumb, wide-eyed at both the man's appearance and his address.

"D'ya not 'ear me, girl?"

Confused, Elizabeth defaulted to the words Katerina had been drilling into her head for nearly a month now.

"I'm not a girl." She said, scrunching up her brow and looking down at the man with as much confidence she could muster.

And it was true, she was not supposed to be a girl, it wasn't safe. Not in a place like this. Before they'd set out Katerina had cut her dirty blonde hair short and put her in some worn trousers.

"I'm drunk, girl, not blind o' dumb. You think 'cause you cut your 'air and put on some raggedy breaches I can't tell you're a little lady eh?"

Elizabeth bristled, feeling offended even though the man was right.

"What does it matter if I am a girl?" She said, with defensive petulance. The man smiled at her in return, stretching the scar on his face and showing his yellowed teeth. It was a dangerous, knowing smile, and it mocked her for her ignorance.

"You ain't got no father with you, 'ave you girl? No brother's neither? S'only you and that sick'un, who I doubt'll last the week." As he said this the man began to lean forward, smirking. Elizabeth clamped her jaw, and curled her fists, wanting to swing at him. He looked her up and down. "Well," he began again "it's a good job you ain't pretty". Then the man laughed and collapsed back into the ropes.

Elizabeth glared at him with such a fierce hatred it made her head begin to throb.

"No." She said.

"No what girl? No, your Ma ain't gonna die, that it?" He scoffed. "People die on boats girl, if she doesn't get better soon they'll chuck 'er in the sea for good measure."

He then picked up his bottle and took another swig. The boat hit a large wave and the deck rocked, causing some of the ale to spill. Elizabeth took a deep steadying breath. Beneath the salt, it smelled like damp, urine, and death.

"No, I don't think you're handsome." Said Elizabeth, her expression blank, her eyes spitting rage. "You're the ugliest fucker I ever met."

And she turned on her heels and stormed off, her footsteps echoing alongside the strong wind and the deep chuckles of the drunk behind her.

* * *

Several weeks passed and Katerina didn't get much better, yet she continued to cling to life, which was perhaps the most that could be hoped for. Elizabeth tried to keep mostly to herself, which was easy enough to do when most around you wouldn't have pissed on you if you were on fire. She'd spent most of her time attempting to avoid the missionary's wife, an excessively dull woman whose favourite past time was reassuring her that if Katerina died then Elizabeth could come and live with her and her husband. She seemed so gleeful at the prospect that Elizabeth sometimes wondered if the woman was not in fact poisoning Katerina so that she might abscond with her child. It was an ungenerous thought, the kind that she'd be scolded for if she ever spoke it aloud, but Elizabeth found she did not care about such a trivial thing as courtesy anymore; the years of comfort, that had allowed her to labour over the insignificant, were a thousand miles behind her. She had been reborn a cynic.

A relatively calm evening found Elizabeth up on the deck, coiled in her usual corner amongst the rope. She was drawing shapes in the dirt and feeling as content as was possible in her circumstances when she felt a hand grab her by the back of her top and haul her out of her den.

"Oi, Sammy! I've found 'un, this the right brat?" Yelled Elizabeth's captor, a thin young man, with a young face and weathered hands. At his cry, several other men approached, scrutinising Elizabeth, whilst she tried to struggle from his grip.

"Could be, not sure. They all look the same to me." Spoke another man, getting right up into her face.

"Ey, well throw 'er for good measure, less mouths ain't it." Said a dark-haired man to her left. As far as she could tell there were five men in total, perhaps a few more stood behind her, but her captors grip was rendering her immobile.

"Fuck that mate. I ain't throwing some random kid overboard without knowing they ain't the rat of some lad twice me size" Hissed her captor. At that comment, Elizabeth began to panic and struggle in earnest, only to be struck across the face by the scrawny captor.

"Yeh well, I ain't dying because some whore and her offspring brought disease on the ship with 'em." Spoke another man "Chuck the boy and be done with it, we'll get his Ma at dark."

The group began to drag Elizabeth towards the side of the vessel, whilst she kicked wildly in an attempt to get away. She managed to catch her captor in the groin, causing him to double and his grip on her to loosen. Seizing the opportunity, she made a dash for freedom across the deck, but once again she was grabbed by the scruff of her neck and turned back around. She threw her arms up in defence and launched untargeted swings at the man, in return, he delivered a swift blow to her face. She heard a crack, and waited for the pain, but none came, instead she heard a groan, and felt a few drops of a warm substance hit her face. She reopened her eyes, having closed them to brace against the blow, and was met with the sight of blood. It appeared that one of her punches had hit, for the man holding her was covered in blood, his face a mess, his eyes wide with shock, his friends silent. This shock however, did not last long, the man's eyes narrowed and he reached behind himself, bring forward a knife which he held to her throat. His entire body quivered with rage.

"I think I'll cut you a bit first." He spat "Let the sharks know where to feast."

Elizabeth closed her eyes once more, and waited for the pain. Instead, she heard footsteps.

"Fiddling with young boys Georgie." Came a gruff voice "Always knew you was a nonce." Elizabeth recognised the tone, and opened her eyes to see the drunk she'd insulted a fortnight earlier, approach. He came right up to the man he called Georgie, and leered at him. "Tell me, d'ya get 'em to fuck you?" He smirked. Georgie looked in equal parts angry and afraid.

"Leave this Flint, I ain't got a quarrel with you." Said Elizabeth's captor, Georgie.

"Now that's where you're wrong Laddie," Said the drunk, getting so far into the other man's face he was forced to release Elizabeth, who stood there frozen. "I always got quarrels with fuckers like you."

"Be sensible Flint, there's five of us and one o' you." Returned Georgie with a bravado it was clear he didn't feel.

"Ay, and which one of your mates is gonna try me first, eh?" Scoffed the drunk." You see I ain't got a problem with them, just you. So, they really got your back?"

Georgie looked around at his group of mates, who were now standing considerably further away than they had been two minutes prior. He reassessed.

"Hey, you want the lad, you 'ave him mate," Throwing Elizabeth towards the drunk, "but I wouldn't wet your cock there, you might die of consumption." He began to walk away, and once he was a safe distance, he turned back and pointed to Elizabeth. "He's a plague carrier that boy, and if any of us start dropping I'm coming for him, coming with twenty men."

Unbothered by the threat, the drunk smiled. "Ay coming with twenty men, that's right up your alley." He yelled, then dismissed Georgie and his gang with an obscene gesture.

He turned towards Elizabeth. "What then girly, no thank you?" He sneered.

Elizabeth said nothing.

"Cat got your tongue?" He chuckled "That was one hell of a punch you gave back then, not as scrawny as you look, ay lass?"

 **AN/** **I got a review! Thank you so much it means the world. Hope you like this second part please do let me know. Sorry that it took so long, but that single review has honestly been my sole motivation to deliver this chapter despite a hectic schedule. So this, as you can see, is a flashback continuing from the end of the last chapter. There is more to come from the characters individually for the chapter or so, however, they will meet again sooner than one might think. Please review, follow and favourite, I need validation! Thank you**


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